


Ways people tried to communicate with Clint and the only way he really liked

by Christywalks



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Boys In Love, Child Abuse, Deaf Clint, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5053513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christywalks/pseuds/Christywalks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint had been deaf since he was a baby, so he never heard a sound in his life. Then one day he got tasered by a suit guy who plugged two hearing aids in his ears while he was out. Things became much more interesting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ways people tried to communicate with Clint and the only way he really liked

**Author's Note:**

> * Two stories in two days, I must be in love. And warning: English is not my first language, and I couldn't find a beta, so please forgive all those grammar and spelling mistakes. I really tried. Cheers
> 
> *And the reason for me to write this is because I've read some deaf Clint fics on this site and I just suddenly really want to write one myself. Also I need some HE, badly. So here it is _(:з」∠)_

 

 

 

 

Even from the earliest memory of his life, Clint had never been able to hear a thing. Years later people told him that he didn’t born a deaf; when he was about eight months old his drunken dad got angry when he cried too loud and smashed his tiny head against the crib until his ears bleed. He was later sent to hospital by his ma with the excuse of an accident. Luckily he didn’t suffer from any serious brain damage, but his inner ears were so badly disturbed that without hearing aids he would only have less than ten percent of his original hearing.

 

And his parents couldn’t, or wouldn’t afford a pair.

 

As he slowly grew up he didn’t feel much different, because he had no memory of any sound of the world. Some people said he ought to have remembered his mom’s voice, but he really didn’t. They communicated mainly through hand gestures and facial expressions. Clint had learned at a very young age that when his mom smiled and hugged him, everything was okay; but if she looked sad and her hands trembled, he had to be careful and not make too much noise. His dad never cared whether he could hear or not, and Clint never tried to “talk” to him.

 

But with Barney things were quite different. His older brother just refused to understand why Clint couldn’t hear anything. Barney had shouted, cried, cursed, rattled the spoons and forks in the kitchen cabinet even once stolen a firecracker to get Clint’s attention. After a while, when he realized the true meaning of deafness, he devoted himself to the mission of teaching Clint the few words he had learned from their parents.

 

One day, Barney just held Clint’s head tight between his hands, made him look directly at him and moved his lips over and over. Then he shoveled a piece of paper in Clint’s hand. There was a big letter “A” on it. Barney never told Clint where did he get the idea, but Clint learned spelling and how to read lips from his brother just like that.

 

Having Barney as his spelling teacher explained in many ways Clint’s infamous ability to misspell. But because of that, Clint could never hate his brother, no matter what Barney had done to him later.

 

After their parents’ car crashed Clint was sent to an orphanage with Barney, where he was taught to use the American Sign Language. Clint didn’t like it at all but used it anyway, because staying out of trouble had already became a part of him. He still didn’t wear hearing aids because the orphanage had no extra money either. Some volunteering teachers there told him that he might be able to get aids after being adopted, but Clint really didn’t care. He was fine without a sound in his world. Other kids at the orphanage never played with him so he could read or draw or simply did nothing at the dark corner of his room for as long as he liked. Besides Barney always took care of him and scared the other kids off when they were bored on rainy days and wanted to bully Clint for fun.

 

Barney and Clint escaped the orphanage when he was about thirteen years old and they wound up at a traveling carnival. Barney was welcomed immediately for he was older and more capable of performing dangers tricks, and Clint could do nothing more than helping at the kitchen and feeding that old lion of theirs. He never knew what the Swordsman saw in him—he was just a dumb and deaf kid, but Swordsman chose him as his protégé and trained him. The moment Clint’s fingers touched that shoddy bow the carnival had for performance his whole world changed. He soon found the first advantage of his deafness: he could concentrate better than anyone. He could stay on a same spot for hours before taking the shot or he could walk on a tightrope and shot the target without being distracted by the gasping and shouting from the audience.

 

Still no one at the carnival bothered to learn ASL or tried to communicate with him, although he knew the Swordsman could do ASL but never used it with him. Apart from training with Swordsman and practicing shooting he also got assigned to other businesses at the carnival, chores like cleaning the performing stage or feeding the lion, and he usually got these orders written on a piece of paper under his morning food tray. Soon everyone began to use notes when they really needed to tell him something: He got a “ _Thank you for sewing up my outfit xx_ ” note from that pretty acrobatic girl who hanged out with Barney a lot; he found a “ _if ya tell the boss what I’ve done last night I’ll kill ya little piss_ ” note slipped through his tent after he accidentally witnessed the Snakeman o.d.ed; he even once received a “ _Good job kid, make me more money_ ” note from the paymaster of the carnival after he tried a really risky shot on the tightrope and almost broke his neck.

 

And of course most of these notes were about Barney. Clint could see that a life at the carnival didn’t fit Barney’s expectation, and he was forever disappointed that Swordsman didn’t choose him instead. He became drunk quite often when the carnival was between shows and was eager to pick up fights in bars. The owner of the carnival gave him warnings and if Clint hadn’t threatened with notes and rough hand gestures that he would quit if Barney were out, his brother would certainly be left behind long ago.

 

But Barney didn’t even try to behave. He still got involved with all kinds of dangerous people and became angrier each day. He hit Clint hard one night when he came back to their tent too early and walked into his secret meeting with some local gang leader. Clint was too sullen the next day to think clearly when he entered Swordsman’s tent without making an announcement and found the paymaster’s stolen money right there on the table. And beside the table stood his dear teacher.

 

That was his last time to see either of Swordsman or Barney. Swordsman nearly beat him to death then fled and Barney saved him one last time. When he woke up in the hospital they were all gone, so Clint also left the carnival with only his bow and arrows on the back. He never knew whether Barney was also involved in the theft or not. He just didn’t think about this.

 

In the following years he made quite a name for himself. The Amazing Hawkeye, once a stage name, now became the best marksman in mercenaries’ world. He pointed his arrow at any head with a price as long as he felt okay. He never touched big names who were wanted dead simply because they were rich or famous, nor would him kill innocent kids, and because he was that good, he got to choose. And almost everyone knew that Hawkeye didn’t receive job offers face to face. He only did it in written forms. He even got secret mailboxes in several cities just for his “clients”. No one knew about his deafness, because he was seldom caught; but when he did get caught, he just gritted his teeth and let someone beat the shit out of him then found a way to get loose and returned the favor.

 

And one day, Clint suddenly found out that he was on an alphabet-federal agency’s name list because he refused to take the life of some rich philanthropist and got their attention. Clint never thought himself as a criminal, but he sure as hell wouldn’t work for cops; the system hadn’t done one good thing for him yet. So he stopped working for a while and dropped out of sight. He was so good at being invisible his entire life that he got careless. One night, after he came out of a shabby pub in some Irish town through the back door, he found himself standing face to face with a guy in suit, who passed over a note. He sure had been drinking too much because he didn’t flee right away. He read the note and it said:

 

_We would like you to work for S.H.I.E.L.D., Mr. Barton._

 

He tried to run but it was too late. The suit man raised his other arm and tasered him.

 

When he woke up again, he felt two very uncomfortable things were plugged in his ears. When he wiggled on the chair and opened his eyes, he found that suit man sitting right in front of him. Then he opened his mouth and Clint was rushed over with a whole new sensation that he had never experienced in his entire life. There was a part of his brain that never got to use suddenly became alive and Clint didn’t even know whether he should hide away or laugh in tears.

 

Later, he learned that was called _hearing_ , but right then he just gaped and stared at that man. The suit guy seemed to understand his confusion, for he moved closer and moved his lips again, this time much slower and clearer.

 

“ _How_ _—are_ _—you_ _—feeling_ _—now_?”

There was something along with these five words that went right through his ears into his brain and caused strange feelings there. Clint thought it felt like warmth, but also mixed with unseen beauty and strength and a lot of wonderful things he couldn’t name. The words he read from the man’s lips combined with this new sensation shed light on Clint’s confusing brain: This had to be what those words _sounded_ like.

 

“ _’m fine_.” He tried to answer, quite out-of-character-sheepishly, and then he was overwhelmed again by his own voice. He never thought of what his voice would be like; there was no point because he never used it, and no one ever taught him how to speak properly. But when hearing these two words he tried to form, although they were nothing like the fluent sentence the suit guy had just spoke but muffled and broken, Clint was amazed. His voice sounded…beautiful. He wouldn’t use any other words to describe it.

 

“ _Good_ ,” the suit guy said and nodded then drew out some cards with words on them from his pocket. He showed Clint these cards one by one while reading them loud for him, like a damn kindergarten teacher.

 

“ _My name is Phil Coulson and I work for an organization called S.H.I.E.L.D._ ”

 

“ _Your name is Clint Francis Barton and you are reputedly to be the best marksman alive._ ”

 

“ _You also have some criminal records behind you, but nothing serious enough to force us to put you directly in jail._ ”

 

“ _We believe you already knew about that permanent job offer from us and decided to refuse. We’d like you to consider again._ ”

 

“ _What’s good in there for me?_ ” Clint didn’t speak out but signed with his hand. He didn’t expect this Coulson guy to know ASL, but he did, or he just pretended he understand and showed Clint another card with “ _Your criminal records will be cleaned, and you’ll become a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a good payment, full insurance and other welfares._ ”

 

And before Clint signed any rejections, Coulson flipped the card over. On the back of this card there was a sentence written in blue ink, unlike other typed out ones. Clint thought it was written by Coulson himself.

 

“ _And we can teach you how to speak as well as how to become a better marksman with your ears._ ”

 

Clint’s eyes widened.

 

He took the offer.

 

***

 

The first six months Clint spent at an S.H.I.L.E.D training facility were both torture and challenge. Once S.H.I.E.L.D. thought Clint was capable enough to understand other people’s words without the help of written forms he was immediately enrolled in a group of baby agents and was not treated in any ways differently as he expected. He passed all the physical training tests with flying colors but the real difficulties lay in lectures. Even with his hearing aids he still lacked the ability to absorb information with his ears. Plus he was also assigned to a linguistic expert to learn how to speak better and had to complete all kinds of exercises and homework in his free time. Clint was always tired (now he could use the phrase “too tired to speak), but he had also made great improvement. When the first time he stood in Agent Coulson’s office and made an oral report about his recent trainings, he could even see a tiny smile on the agent’s lips, which made him grin proudly too.

 

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s range soon turned out to be his favorite hang-out place. And Coulson was right; hearing did help him become a better marksman. He could still concentrate perfectly with all kinds of sounds around him, and he learned how to use these sounds to make better judgment. Besides the sound of the arrow flew out of his hand and hit the target was so soothing that Clint would just stand there and draw and nock and shoot all day long. It was the most amazing sound he had ever heard. Guns, on the other hand, were far less pleasant than when they were silent, but Clint knew his new job required guns from time to time, so he practiced them anyway.

 

He also began to characterize people by their voices. He sometimes mourned the loss of never being able to know what his mother and Barney’s voices would be like, but he was kind of glad he had no memory of his dad’s angry insults. And of all the voices he had heard, Coulson’s was his favorite. Maybe because Coulson’s voice was the first sound he had ever heard with his ears and kind of imprinted on him, but there was something unique in that man’s voice made Clint want to hear more. Something as soothing as the sound of a flying arrow. So he spent hours of his off time in Coulson’s office with excuses such as in need of a speaking practice partner or he didn’t know if he pronounced some words correct or not, and never once had Coulson swept him out. The man’s second name had to be Patience, for as long as there was no emergency he would answer any of Clint’s questions and repeated some boring sentences like “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain” over and over again.

 

One day Clint occupied Coulson’s couch in his office as usual and tried to read a ridiculously difficult paragraph from The Lord of The Rings book one, but he kept making mistakes. (Really not his fault, there were so many weird words he didn’t even recognize let along pronounce) Coulson sighed over his reports and put down his pen.

 

“Give me the book.”

 

Then Clint sat on the end of the couch closer to Coulson’s desk and listened to him reading out that paragraph loud for him. His voice sounded enchanting, easily weaved those fancy words into a real magical spell and cast it on Clint’s heart. It had to be magic for Clint’s heart was beating so fast he could even hear it in his ears. The paragraph was finished in a blink. When Coulson looked at him over the book and didn’t get a response, he sighed with an almost spoiling look on his face and continued.

 

Coulson read through four long chapters before they were interrupted by another agent. Clint murmured a “thanks” and fled without asking for his book back.

 

One month later when his birthday in his file came (Clint didn’t know if it was real or not. It was on his birth certificate, but since he was born at his own house, there was a possibility that his dad didn’t register his birth until days later), Clint found a flat and square thing wrapped nicely in purple paper in his locker. After he peeled the packaging paper he found that it was a recording cassette with Coulson’s handwriting on it: “ _The Fellowship of The Ring, Part I_ ”.

 

Coulson made him an audiobook for his birthday.

 

Clint knew he was in love even before finishing side A.

 

That cassette became one of his mission necessities once he completed basic training and became a Level One S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. On his way to his first mission (merely a milk run for newcomers) Clint managed to sneak his cassette and Walkman on the plane and hid them in his uniforms. Twenty seven hours later on the back trip, when everyone was sleepy in the hanger deck, he put on his earphones and closed his eyes. Coulson’s clear and steady voice washed over him like a warm tide and took away all his fatigue. He smiled and tried to read after the words in a low voice.

 

The third time he brought his Walkman to an op things went sour pretty quick. He got hit in the shoulder and had to jump off a five-story high building, landed awkwardly on his side and nearly crashed his Walkman. Luckily his cassette was okay, but he didn’t dare to bring it with him again.

 

Instead, he filed a form and requested to be transferred to work under Agent Coulson.

 

Director Nick Fury was a real badass with even a badass-like voice. He glared at Clint with his eye and said nothing for almost five minutes. Clint stood there, hands behind him and recited the first chapter of The Fellowship of The Ring in his mind.

 

“What do you want and what are you going to do if I refuse this request, Agent Barton?” Fury finally spoke.

 

Clint shrugged. “I want nothing, sir, other than become a better agent. And I _will_ be better if Coulson was my handler. We communicate better.”

 

Fury narrowed his eye. “Smuggling personal belongs into ops is a very stupid behavior, agent.”

 

Of course he knew. Clint didn’t even assume otherwise.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And you’ll stop if I agree?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

And just like that, Clint became a part of Coulson’s Strike Team. He didn’t need his cassette anymore, because now he had Coulson’s voice directly in his ears.

 

***

 

“Barton, talk to me.”

 

“The target is on third floor and running toward the fire ladder. He will be passing that French door in ten seconds.”

 

“Make the shot when you are ready.”

 

Bow in hands, arrow on the nock, Clint’s body tensed just like his weapon and waited for the target to come into his shooting range. Two heartbeats later he loosened his left fingers and the arrow flew directly toward the French door, cracked the thick glass without slowing down and went deeply into the startled target’s right eye socket. Mission accomplished.

 

“Good work. Now come down.”

 

“Roger that.”

 

Clint ran down the stairs of his building and hummed a tongue twistering song he learned from his practicing material on his way. When he reached ground floor he found Coulson standing there waiting for him.

 

“What’s up?”

 

Seeing Coulson not in the van as usual, Clint was a little bit touched but also concerned.

 

“Nothing, just…” Coulson made half a gesture with his hand, and Clint didn’t need ASL to know that it meat frustration.

 

“Did I do something wrong?”

 

“What? No! Well done up there.” Coulson put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled it out immediately. Clint had never seen him so agitated.

 

“Seriously. You can tell me anything, I won’t laugh.”

 

Phil sighed and gave up. He drew two paper-like things out of his pocket.

 

“I’ve bought two tickets for the movie premier of _Jurassic Park_ tonight. I wonder if you…are interested?”

 

“Is that the movie about dinosaurs?”

 

“Yes, that is the one.”

 

“Okay.” Clint took one ticket from Coulson’s hand with a huge grin, “I’ve never seen a movie before!”

 

Coulson gave him a look that meant he was sorry for what Clint had missed and wanted to punch someone, but Clint just looked at him and grinned until smile came back to Coulson’s blue eyes.

 

***

 

Seeing a movie was a whole new experience for Clint. He had been in the cinemas before; sometimes when he was too tired to find a safe shelter he would just buy whatever tickets that was on sale and slept in the dark back rows for an hour. He couldn’t hear anything so the sleeping condition was next thing to perfect. But to actually see a movie, to enjoy the characters and plots and especially the sound effects, these things made Clint a little thrilled.

 

Besides, he was with Coulson—or should he call him Phil now? They were in their civvies after all. Clint had never seen Phil out of his suits, and these pale blue jeans and grey hoodie made him look really nice. He tried to make a compliment when they bought popcorn outside the ticket office and waited in line with other excited movie-lovers.

 

“Excited?” Phil glanced at Clint’s taping finger on the popcorn bucket and asked smiley.

 

“Yeah, a bit.” Clint lied. He wasn’t excited because of the movie, he was frustrated because he had learn how to speak for a year and a half now and he still couldn’t say something as simple as “you look good tonight” out loud.

 

“I’m excited, too. I’ve read the novel before and really looking forward to see the film.”

 

“Thank you for bringing me along.”

 

“Well, it’s my pleasure.” Phil smiled again, and Clint thought maybe he was a little redder on his cheeks. “I want you to have some fun in your life, Barton. You deserve it.”

 

“And I also deserve to be called Clint, or I’ll have to call you sir in public.” Clint replied with a wink.

 

“Fair enough. I don’t know if I should be proud or worried that you’ve turned into such a smart mouth, Clint.”

 

The sound of his name from Phil caused a weird feeling in his stomach. Clint tried his best not to show too much. Just as he tried to say something to prove Phil’s comment, the line began to move and they were soon inside the cinema.

 

 _Jurassic Park_ was an awesome film. Clint grabbed a handful of popcorns and tried so hard not to laugh when that scientist looked exactly like Fury with two eyes appeared on the big screen again. He knew beside him Phil was also amused, for their knees were touching and he could feel tremors of laughter whenever that character shown up. When he reached for the popcorn again his hand accidentally brushed Phil’s hand, and they both missed the next few scenes, staring at each other under the dim light from the screen.

 

Luckily, or unluckily for Clint, the T-Rex chose this moment to make appearance and his whole attention was drawn to that giant creature on the screen, then the following few minutes of T-Rex and those two kids made him even forget popcorn. He kept his posture until the story was not so exciting and turned to grab more popcorn, but as he turned his head he found that Phil was staring directly at him. When catching Clint’s eyes quite out of the blue, he became a shade redder.

 

“What’s the matter?” Clint leaned in and whispered. God, Phil smelled nice too.

 

“Nothing, just making sure if you are okay with all these sound effects.”

 

“I’m A-okay. It’s brilliant.” Someone in the back row kicked Clint’s chair, so he shut his mouth and paid attention to the film once again. But he was the amazing Hawkeye, so he could see without turning his head that Phil was still glancing at him once in a while. Those looks made his stomach feel weird again.

 

The movie ended really quickly after that, making Clint whine a little inside. He hadn’t even enjoyed watching T-Rex or feeling Phil sitting next to him enough. When the theme song played out some audience began to stand up and leave, but Phil didn’t move. Clint guessed he was well-mannered enough to wait for the credit list to roll up.

 

“Enjoyed?” Phil asked.

 

“Very much. Thank you so much for showing me this.” Clint sighed contently. “Can we do this more? I really love watching a movie in cinema.”

 

“Of course. And Clint?”

 

Clint turned his head when Phil called his name and two warm lips with sweet taste from the popcorn caught his. It was nothing lingering or passionate, just as softly and quickly as a brush from a feather, but enough to make Clint’s heart stop. He stared at Phil when the other man pulled back, an apology already formed on his lips.

 

 _Don’t!_ He wanted to say this word so badly to stop Phil from apologizing. There was nothing to apologize; he had dreamed for this moment for months. But he couldn’t make a single sound leave his mouth. All he could do was to sit there like he had been frozen and watch Phil’s expression getting sadder with each second passing.

 

He had to do something to wipe out that look, so he put the empty popcorn bucket aside and raised his hands. He hadn’t use ASL for quite some time but he could still sign it more quickly and fluently than he could with speaking.

 

 _Don’t you dare apologize to me._ He signed frenziedly. _I want it, too._

 

Phil blinked for several times; Clint began to panic that he had forgotten ASL. But Phil slowly raised his hands and moved his fingers cautiously.

 

_You do?_

 

_Yes, definitely. I’ve been wanting this for a really long time._

 

 _Thank God._ Phil smiled. _Me too._

Several rows behind them Clint could hear one guy complaining to his pal “What the fuck did we just watched the film with two deaf guys?”, but Clint was too happy to stand up and shout back. Phil looked at him as if he was the only thing that mattered in this world, and they held hands under their seats and gazed at each other like two teenagers in love until they were both kicked out by the cleaning staff.

 

They didn’t say a single word the rest of the night. They didn’t need to.

 

***

 

After that things were a little blurred for Clint. Nothing went wrong and everything was perfect, but just progressed a bit faster than he could ever anticipate. He and Phil fell in love with each other and said those three words (Phil used real words and Clint used his hands, he was still learning how to voice out his feelings); their mission success rate broke the S.H.I.E.L.D. record (Even years later Team Coulson-Barton was still second best only after Team Coulson-Barton-Romanoff); they both got a shovel talk from Director Fury but with totally different warnings and threatens (but they did change notes afterwards and make fun of Fury together). Then one day, Clint found out he had moved in with Phil and they even got a house plant.

 

There were still difficult times; working for S.H.I.E.L.D. meant that they could never run away from responsibilities or injuries. They both had sat beside a hospital bed and held the other’s hand for several times, although Phil had done this way more than Clint. And sometimes, after a real nasty op, Clint still couldn’t say a single word out. He would try and go mad until his veins bulked on his forehead and ended up with furious ASL, and then he would let Phil hold tight on him until they both fell into sleep. Sometime it was Phil who was to sullen to talk and Clint would simply put his head on Phil’s laps and watched TV together. He could always pull one of his hearing aids out if Phil had chosen some real boring reality show.

 

And during the years Clint had also learned why Phil’s voice was so special to him. It was indeed the first sound he had ever heard and it shown him safety and kindness. Whether it was the first time someone made cards for him to communicate while reading out loud or the countless time Clint heard those calm and steady orders from his earpiece didn’t really matter, Phil’s voice was always a lighthouse and beacon for Clint’s inner confusion and darkness. Whenever he heard Phil’s voice, he felt home.

 

One night, after a soundless dream Clint suddenly woke up. It took him several seconds to realize where he was and what he was doing. He was sleeping shirtless on their bed, blanket tangled around his waist, and Phil spooned behind him. As if discovered his uneasiness, Phil hummed and moved closer, one hand searched for and found Clint’s hand.

 

 _What’s up?_ He felt, rather than heard Phil say those words. Then he understood why he was so unsettled. It was the first time he took both of his hearing aids out before he went to bed, and he hadn’t experienced complete silence for several years now. Before tonight he always left one in, in case emergency happened. But somehow he simply took them both out without even considered it.

 

“I had a dream. I…” Clint couldn’t hear his own voice, but he felt Phil shifted even closer, his chest pressed against his back tightly and shielded him from behind. Phil’s skin was sleep-warm, and this warmth cleared his thought and settled his mind.

 

Phil made him feel safe enough that he didn’t even need his hearing.

 

 _How are you feeling now?_ Phil’s lips moved against the back of his neck, slowly and clearly for him to understand.

 

“Fine. I feel fine.” Clint held Phil’s hand tight and closed his eyes.


End file.
